Happiness, Rediscovered
by Idan
Summary: "Suddenly he was struck with the truth of his situation: his past wasn't just holding him captive. It had also imprisoned Lisbon, dooming her to a wait for something she was losing hope would ever happen. And now he didn't have the excuse of his revenge, or of putting her in danger. What the hell was he waiting for?"
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing to do with either version of The Mentalist and am making no money from this.

**Author's Note:** This is for the guest reviewer of Impressions who suggested that Lisbon's new fireplace made her couch the perfect make-out spot. The image stuck in my head, and this is what I did with it.

He'd imagined countless scenarios over the past two years where he would have the opportunity to make a move on Lisbon. Harmless daydreams, really, he'd thought. It was natural to think about someone when you missed them, when almost everything you did had some reminder of them, some association in your memory palace. And his isolation in an otherwise romantic setting made it inevitable that some of those daydreams were going to be sensual. Erotic, even.

But of course dreams and reality were never the same. And now that they were working together again, it had been easy to fall back into old patterns, tucking his daydreams away in the back of his mind.

Until she lit the fire in her fireplace.

He'd been obnoxious about wanting to accompany her home, he knew. She'd only come back to pack a few things, not having been prepared for a long stay when Abbott summoned her to Texas. She hadn't yet reached the point where she wanted to resign her "real" job, but she needed more clothes. He hadn't needed to come with her, as Abbott and Fischer had pointed out both separately and together.

But he was tired of being without her. He didn't want to miss her again, even for a weekend. So he'd made enough of a fuss that Lisbon had cut a deal with Abbott to make it possible. Since Jane had no intention of going anywhere else, it didn't bother him when Abbott tried not to smile as he issued the threat of prison for Lisbon if she let his sorry-ass parolee self escape. Much.

He just hadn't anticipated that she would have made a real home here. It was lightyears away from her spartan digs back in Sacramento. It was warm, homey, decorated with attention to comfort. A place she liked to spend time. In some ways it reminded him of her office at CBI, full of little touches and a nice beige couch. And a fireplace.

Bonfires on the beach had frequently played a large role in his daydreams. The crackle of the wood and the scent of the smoke brought them back vividly, and he struggled to pay attention as he finished throwing together the dinner he'd promised as payment for his room and board. He drank a little too much wine over dinner, caught up in anticipating how the firelight would flicker over the curves of her face. And then finally they moved to the couch and he got his chance to see it for real.

He encouraged her to tell stories of her time here, ravenously curious about her life without him. Besides, he'd rather look at her than talk. He still hadn't had his fill of observing her, filing away the tiny changes that the years had left. And he was still starved for her voice, the various tones and notes in it that he'd missed so much.

He was vaguely aware that she had refilled their glasses several times, but it didn't occur to him that she was feeling the effects until she paused in her observations about the upcoming winter and he looked over to find her leaning her head against her hand, elbow propped on the back of the couch as she faced him, her eyes sleepy and half-closed. When she saw him looking at her, she opened them and smiled, looking at him as if she was as desperate to re-learn his features as he was hers. Her eyes glowed in the warm, dancing light, which also highlighted the sheen of red wine on her lower lip. She was absolutely irresistible, more alluring than even than his best dreams had conjured up.

He set his glass on the coffee table, then slowly reached for hers, sliding it gently out of her grasp and setting it beside his. She didn't protest, simply watching him. He returned her gaze for a few seconds, trying to discern her state of mind. His own was fragile enough that a rebuff would be unbearable.

But he found only welcome in her eyes and in the little smile that curved her lips just slightly, probably without her permission. So he leaned forward slowly, cataloging every change in her expression as he got closer, and pressed his lips lightly against hers.

They were pillow soft and tasted of cabernet sauvignon, warm and alive as she returned the kiss. She smelled like home and hope and all the reasons he had chosen to go on living, and he wrapped his arms around her and tilted his head to change the angle slightly, keeping his kisses soft and loving. This had been a long time coming, after all. He wanted it to be perfect. He didn't want her to feel pressured—

His train of thought nearly derailed as she slipped her tongue between his lips, teasing him for a moment before sliding inside to caress his own. He pulled her closer and began a very enjoyable game of dueling tongues, in which he was delighted to find she gave as good as she got. Her mouth was hot and wet and put him in imminent danger of overheating. He desperately needed a distraction, so he slid one hand under her sweater, stroking over the smooth, soft skin of her back.

That was probably not the best distraction in the world, he realized, because it only made him want more. The angel on his shoulder reminded him that she deserved better than to go from a first kiss to a quick tumble on the couch in one night—hell, in one hour. The devil on his other shoulder pointed out that she could stop him any time she liked. Instead, she was sliding her hand under his shirt, nails scraping gently along his spine in a move guaranteed to drive him crazy.

He pulled her into his lap, his left hand joining his right in exploring her tiny waist—and the next thing he knew, he was grasping at empty air while Lisbon fled the room.

What the hell had just happened? He blinked at the fireplace, completely confused, and tried to calm his clamoring body so he could think. "Lisbon?" he called, finally feeling steady enough to attempt to stand. The clink of silverware against a plate told him she was in the kitchen, so he went in that direction, his stride stabilizing after a few steps.

She was standing at the sink, rinsing dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her expression, but the tension in her shoulders was a warning sign. He decided to start simple. "Lisbon? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. We've had too much to drink. You should probably head for bed; the guest room is all made up." Her voice shook a little, but otherwise she achieved a creditably calm tone.

"I'm not sleepy," he said. "Here, let me help you clean up."

"No, I got it."

She still hadn't looked at him. He leaned against the counter for a moment, mulling her over, then went back to the living room and got their wine glasses and the empty bottle. The recycling bin was conveniently placed near the back door on her other side, so he set the glasses on the counter above the dishwasher and then squeezed past her to deposit the bottle, making sure to brush against her both coming and going. She twitched a little like she was suppressing the urge to shove him away. Not a good sign.

He started to review the events leading up to her abrupt change of heart. Had he stumbled onto a sensitive spot, some kind of trigger to a traumatic event from her past? He didn't think so. He'd felt no scar tissue, and she hadn't tensed up beforehand. "I need a little help here, Lisbon," he finally said. "What did I do wrong?"

He had no expectation that she would tell him, but her evasion would give him a clue, he hoped.

She let out a half-muffled snort, putting the final plate in the dishwasher. At last she turned to face him. "I'm not blaming you. I should have stopped you. You've had way too much to drink."

All true, he realized. "As you're aware, alcohol lowers inhibitions. It doesn't create desires that weren't there before."

She was already adorably flushed from the wine and from bending over the dishwasher, but she dropped her eyes in embarrassment. Then she took a breath and looked at him again, straightening her posture in a signal that she was about to go on the attack. "Well, now your curiosity is satisfied, so you can go to bed a happy man."

"At the moment, I'm a very unhappy man," he pointed out. His body had responded to hers with a ferocity he was having trouble shaking. "And it wasn't curiosity."

"Oh?" She folded her arms and did her best to glare at him.

"Well, not only curiosity," he amended. Then he remembered that backing down to Lisbon was no way to engage her, so he said, "I've been thinking about kissing you for the better part of two years. The only thing I was curious about was if reality would hold up to fantasy. And it did."

Her eyes widened in shock. "You thought about kissing me?" She was going for disbelief but only managed incredulity, he thought.

"Pretty much every day." He said it matter-of-factly, because for him, it was. For her, it was like hearing he was an alien from outer space, though. In some ways, he really was an alien being, someone neither of them recognized. It was why he needed her so much, because she had always known who he was at the core of himself. She could guide him back to that if he let her.

To head off the inevitable accusation of lying, he continued, "Why do you think I spent so much time writing to you about things I thought you'd enjoy? I'd have sent you a postcard saying 'wish you were here' if I could have found one. Every time I mailed a letter I hoped it would be the one that would convince you to come find me."

She was staring at him with her mouth open now. "I was supposed to come find you?" Then she frowned at him. "A little more help would have been nice, then! I didn't even know what country to start with!"

"I gave Pete access to one of my offshore accounts and told him if you ever asked where I was, he should buy you a plane ticket." Which would have outed him to the FBI for sure, but he hadn't been worried about that.

Lisbon stared at him for a moment more, until her stunned expression turned sad. "I never asked."

"I know." He was a little hurt by that, actually. Every time he'd asked if someone was looking for him, he'd hoped so desperately to hear that yes, a pretty lady with dark hair had asked about him.

"I thought it would be better not to know," she tried to explain. "They were watching me. I didn't want to lead them to you. Abbott even stopped by right before—" She broke off in horror. "They did find you through me, didn't they? How?"

"They traced the letters somehow. It doesn't matter, Lisbon. I made it my business to stay up to date on extradition laws. They couldn't touch me. I came back because I chose to, not because I had to. Because I missed you." And because he was afraid of what he'd become if he kept leading his solitary life, but that would take too long to explain. "Finally I decided if you wouldn't come to me, I'd have to come to you."

"You could have just invited me in one of your letters," she pointed out.

True. But he'd wanted it to be her idea. He'd wanted her to miss him so much she couldn't stand it anymore. But that didn't seem like a thing he could say, so he defaulted to, "What fun would that be?"

She sighed, still looking sad. Was she envisioning the two of them sitting on the beach in front of a bonfire, grinning at each other like idiots because they were just so glad to be together again? He wished now he'd hinted harder, but he hadn't wanted to manipulate her. Or maybe he'd just been afraid she'd say no.

"So we've established that the kissing was not some kind of wine-induced insanity," he prodded. "Besides, if that was really what you thought, you would have just told me to knock it off instead of deciding that the dishes couldn't wait a single second longer. What was it really?"

She looked at him, her sadness dissolving into irritation. "I don't make out with men wearing wedding rings."

Well, he'd asked for it. It still felt like a punch to the gut. And Lisbon hit hard, always.

He looked down at his left hand, remembering how he'd touched her with it right before she jumped up like she'd been burned. She'd felt the metal against her skin and instantly concluded that this was somehow wrong. He remembered his conversation with Kim about the ring, how he kept it on because he still didn't know how to talk about his wife and what had happened. But he didn't need to talk about that with Lisbon, who knew the whole story as well as anyone could. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he was still wearing the ring.

"You're not ready," Lisbon continued.

Her expression was back to sad, and he could see what she was thinking: if he hadn't come to terms with his loss in two years with nothing to do but think, he was never going to. He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped, realizing he had no convincing argument to make.

Lisbon took pity on him. "It's not something you can rush, Jane. You will either be ready someday, or you won't. It's not a failing. It's...it's sweet that you loved her that much. She was lucky."

He shook his head violently. "I was the lucky one."

"I think both of you were. Anybody who has the chance to be part of a love like that is lucky." She sounded wistful, like it was something she could never have.

But she could have it, he thought fiercely. He could love her like that. He did love her like that. He just...had a bunch of crap in the way.

Suddenly he was struck with the truth of his situation: his past wasn't just holding him captive. It had also imprisoned Lisbon, dooming her to a wait for something she was losing hope would ever happen. And now he didn't have the excuse of his revenge, or of putting her in danger. What the hell was he waiting for?

Angela would have beaten him over the head with the nearest blunt object for this level of stupidity. He could hear her voice in his mind, as clear as if it had been yesterday: "For the love of God, Paddy, when you do stupid, you really go all the way, don't you? Couldn't you at least be mediocre at being an idiot?"

Taking a deep breath, he tugged the ring off his finger and looked around a little blindly. "Do you have a safe place to put this?"

"No, Jane. I don't want you to do this because you think it's what I want. You have to—"

"I'm never going to be more ready to take it off than I am today. I will get used to not wearing it. I just have to start. I want to keep it safe, though." He discarded the kitchen as a place to keep things safe and went back into the living room, looking around. The bookshelf was promising—aha! That box would be perfect, depending on what else was in it. He picked it up and reached for the lid.

"No, not in there!" Lisbon said breathlessly from behind him.

He removed the lid and stared down at the collection of letters inside. He recognized the thin air-mail paper immediately, and he saw that she'd kept every single one. The older ones were much handled, a little worn and crumpled as if she'd read them over and over again.

He was touched. With no way to receive a response and knowing she was probably under some kind of surveillance, he'd assumed she'd destroyed them after reading them. That was why he'd sent her the shell, so she'd have something harmless to remember him by. He'd never imagined this cache of letters, obviously treasured.

Looking at her, he realized she was expecting him to tease her. But he was too choked up to try. Instead, he dropped his ring in the box, dismissing the idea that it might be inappropriate to put his wedding ring in a box of letters he'd written to another woman to entice her to abandon her life and come be with him. It was all part of the past. They were all things to be fondly remembered and occasionally looked at, but not dwelled on. It was fitting.

He put the lid back on and carefully set the box back in its place, then turned to face Lisbon. She swallowed hard, her eyes wide with surprise and longing. But when she spoke, it wasn't about what she wanted. It was, as usual, concern for him. "I don't think you're ready for that."

"Maybe not. Time will tell." He at least had to try.

"Okay." She looked at the box. "I was going to take it with me anyway. It'll be nearby if you need it."

He frowned. "Why would you take old letters with you when you can just talk to me anytime you want to?"

"Because," she said with a little smile, "I figure the next time you piss me off, I might need them to remember that somewhere under all that troublemaking is someone worth sticking around for."

He grabbed her up in a hug and held on tightly, his throat closing. She was so much better than he deserved.

She slid her arms around his ribs and squeezed. "It's all right, Jane," she said softly. "You don't have to rush anything. Okay?"

"But I'm so tired of waiting," he whispered. "I'm tired of waiting for some overwhelming epiphany that will suddenly make everything okay. It's not going to be like that. I have to try for the things I want, and then if I fail, keep trying."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah, you're right."

He held onto her, savoring the way she smelled, the way her heart thumped along like a startled rabbit, and how soft and warm and right she felt in his arms. He didn't let go until she started to move away.

"It's good we had this talk," she murmured. "We should get some sleep. And I still have to pack."

He was nowhere near ready to let her out of arm's reach again so soon. "The fire's not out. You really shouldn't go to sleep with it still burning. Let's go sit down until it's finished."

She gave him a look that said she knew he was up to something. It was one of his favorites. He grinned as he ushered her back to the couch.

"No funny stuff," she muttered as they sat down.

He suppressed a chuckle. "I guarantee you won't be laughing."

Now her look was downright suspicious.

"We've agreed I have to try for the things I want, right? So let me tell you a few of them."

"Won't that ruin the surprise?" she snarked.

"But you hate surprises," he countered. "Anyway, the first thing I want is to make love to you in front of this fireplace."

Her blush was even more lovely by firelight, he decided.

"Didn't we just establish that you're not ready for that?" she asked after a moment.

"No. We established that you think I'm not ready for that, and that you don't canoodle with men who wear wedding rings. A policy of which I highly approve, by the way, now that I'm not wearing one anymore. Though I do hope you'll change it if you happen to give me one someday."

She got that stunned look on her face again, then grinned. "Canoodle? Seriously?"

"A perfectly good word," he said in mock offense. "Feel free to shut me up with your luscious lips at any point, by the way."

"Hm." She pretended to consider. "Is that guaranteed to work?"

He grinned. "Actually, if memory serves, I do tend to be pretty verbal in bed. So maybe not."

"Well if it's only going to encourage you to keep talking, I'm not seeing what's in that for me."

"Oh, Teresa." He dropped his voice into a lower register and was gratified at how her pupils dilated. "What's in it for you is to discover what it's like to be with someone who can read your every thought and desire before you've even finished having it."

She swallowed hard but, true to form, had a feisty retort ready. "Unfortunately that discovery comes with a long-term side effect of being stuck with you."

"I'm sorry, but you're already afflicted with that curse. You'll never be rid of me, you know. Even if you decide we have to be just friends, I'm not going anywhere."

"What if I decide I want to keep my job here instead of putting up with the FBI?"

"Then I will enjoy watching Abbott squirm when he realizes he has to come up here and offer you any terms you'll take in order to get you to come work with me." He knew she was bluffing. "But I'm aware it's in all our interests for me to keep you happy so you'll stay. So tell me, Teresa, what would make you happy?"

She looked taken aback, as if no one had ever asked her that before. Maybe it had been so long since anyone had, she wasn't used to thinking in those terms. He of all people knew that her happiness was not her guiding principle, after all.

"Happy," she murmured, as if it were a new word she was hearing for the first time.

"When was the last time you were happy, Teresa?" he asked gently, his heart aching a little for her.

"I was happy when I got to hold Wayne and Grace's baby girl," she said.

He smiled, picturing it. "Until you had to give her back. When was the last time you were really, sustainably happy?"

"I was happy when things were going well at CBI," she said after a long time. "When you were letting me in a little, before Red John started up again. When we were just catching bad guys and I wasn't thinking about how it was all going to end."

He reached out and stroked her cheek gently. "We don't need to say his name anymore. And this, now, doesn't have to end. It can be like the good times all the time. Just us catching bad guys and talking late into the night, except instead of you doing paperwork, we can be on a comfortable couch or even in bed."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. He realized how sleepy she was, and part of him wanted to carry her to bed and tuck her in and leave her to get a good night's sleep. But the larger part of him wanted to climb into that bed with her.

No, he realized. They were both a little drunk, and she was tired. She wasn't used to keeping up with him anymore, after all. And he really wanted to make their first time memorable.

"I'll put out the fire," he said. "You go on to bed. I'll see you at breakfast."

She opened her eyes, looking a little puzzled. "I thought you wanted to have sex on the couch."

"On further reflection, I'd prefer to wait until my head is clear."

She pouted at him, and he immediately reconsidered what he'd just said. "I thought you were tired of waiting."

"I am. I'm sick of it." He'd never spoken truer words. "But I think I can manage a day. We're here one more night. Tomorrow we'll skip the wine and I'll hold you prisoner in bed for at least twelve hours."

Her eyes darkened, and he made a mental note that she might be open to certain role-playing scenarios. "I think you're forgetting who has the handcuffs."

"Fine. You can hold me prisoner and have your wicked way with me," he said with exaggerated patience. "Tomorrow."

"You are really high maintenance," she yawned. "You know that?"

He got up, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet. "Yes, sweetheart," he said softly, smiling at her. "I know that. But you love me anyway."

She stifled a snort, then glanced at him. The fact that she didn't deny it warmed his heart. "And because I'm high maintenance, I'm going to wait to tell you I love you until you can't accuse me of being drunk at the time," he replied.

The joy that lit her face made him beam right back at her. He walked her to her bedroom door and kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams."

"You too. Don't stay up and go through all my stuff!" she warned, but she completely failed to look even a little stern.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he grinned.

"Yeah, right." She couldn't quite get the sarcasm right while smiling so broadly, but he appreciated the attempt.

When she'd closed her door, he wandered back to the living room to enjoy the fire. Sprawled on a Lisbon-scented couch, he began to feel sleepy, and it was a struggle to hold his eyes open until the fire burned itself out. Then he let himself drift off, feeling like he'd finally come home.

A/N: Next up, Lisbon's turn!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I was rushing a bit to get this up before tonight's episode, so I hope it holds its own with the first part. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first part and/or followed/favorited!

Lisbon was tired, and the wine had made her sleepy, but as she lay in bed, sleep proved impossible. She kept replaying the evening in her head, trying to figure out how she should feel about it.

One part of her was overjoyed. The man she had been hopelessly in love with for years had apparently decided he was in love with her too—and even better, he'd decided to do something about it.

Another, growing, part of her was confused. Jane didn't say those things, do those things. It was like being with a stranger who happened to have her friend's beautiful eyes and face. And voice. And hands. God, those hands. How many times had she admired those long, graceful fingers and stopped herself from wondering what they'd feel like against her skin? How many times had she replayed waking up in the hospital and having him stroke her hair? And now she had a whole other series of caresses to recall. She shivered a little as her body reacted to the memory of his touch.

He wanted her. The idea was new, almost preposterous—and a little alarming. She didn't know what he might be thinking, and she couldn't discount the possibility that he was messing with her to ensure she stayed with him and the FBI. Even more worrying, he might be thinking about a long-term relationship. She didn't do those. She might not even be capable of it. And what if they tried a romantic relationship and it didn't work out? She would lose him for good. The thought was terrifying.

Jane was the person who knew her best. He paid attention to the little things, allowing him to comfort, amuse, or annoy her according to what he felt was called for. She had no doubt that if he set out to get her into bed, it would happen. If he wanted a romance, she'd make the attempt. She loved him, so hope would always triumph over experience—or rational thought.

Of course, there were many kinds of love. It was also possible that what Jane felt for her was a friendly love, not this huge, feverish, all-consuming feeling she had. But if that was true, would she be able to sustain a casual relationship without wanting more? She would be at a distinct disadvantage in that situation.

Wasn't there an ancient curse that went something like "May you get what you wish for"? She wondered if her priest would say God was punishing her for wanting things for herself instead of being grateful for what He chose to give her. But she had been grateful for her job, that was for sure. She'd been resigned that the exciting, risky part of her life was done and resolved to enjoy an everyday life. She'd been very glad that Jane had chosen to live and that he was safe and not stirring up more trouble for himself.

And she'd been so grateful for the letters. To be reassured that he was okay and thinking about her was more than she'd ever expected. Each one was worth the sharp pang of missing him all over again as she heard his voice in her head speaking the words he'd written.

But she knew she'd romanticized him in his absence. He hadn't written things to annoy her, after all. And his wistful confessions of missing her were easily given a romantic slant in her mind that he might not have meant. And even if he had meant them, what if he'd romanticized her memory? In the rush of happiness at being together again, it would be easy to mistake friendship for something more.

Jane was a creature of habit. He had his cherished routines, like the number of times he dunked his tea bag. In the upheavals his life had undergone, she might represent a comforting constant. What if he was attracted to her because of her familiarity, and after he'd made a new, stable life for himself he woke up one day and realized he'd made a mistake? Could she keep working with him if he was the one to end things? She didn't see how.

Trying to figure out what was going on in Jane's head was a sure road to insanity. She had to knock it off, or she'd never get any sleep. Just for tonight, maybe she could let herself focus on his delicious kisses and talented fingers. She could treasure the fact that he loved her without trying to figure out the details. One night snuggled up with her dreams wasn't too much to ask, was it?

She thought about how it could be if neither of them screwed it up: solving cases and going home together at the end of the day, relaxing in each other's arms and having fantastic sex. She could be happy with that, and she hoped she could make Jane happy too. At least she knew him, his moods, his trigger points, his frustrating quirks. She doubted he held very many more surprises for her, though she was sure there would be a few.

Maybe, she realized, that was what made her an attractive choice for him. He didn't have to explain his past or the scars he carried. It would be daunting to face explaining his life to someone new. What would he say? "I went on TV and pissed off a serial killer, so he killed my wife and daughter. I spent some time in a mental institution, then decided to get revenge. So I joined the CBI and spent a decade tracking him. Finally I found him and choked the life out of him with my bare hands."

Yeah, that was first date material. The poor woman would climb out the bathroom window halfway through dinner, no matter how sexy and charming he was.

Maybe she wasn't a bad choice for him after all. She knew what he was capable of, his cruelty and kindness, his generosity and selfishness. She could keep him from self-destructing at the FBI and support him as he tried to move on from his past. That was why he'd insisted on bringing her on board, wasn't it? And he surely knew he couldn't pursue another woman without disrupting their relationship. So he'd probably looked at all the angles and concluded that if he wanted a romantic relationship, she was his only safe choice.

But since when did Jane make safe choices?

Argh. She really was going to make herself crazy thinking like this. She needed some sleep. Things would probably look different in the morning.

She devoted the rest of her waking minutes to praying for guidance and wisdom, for both herself and Jane.

mmm

Lisbon felt like she'd only been asleep for a minute when her cell phone buzzed. She reached blindly for it and blinked until her eyes focused enough to read the text.

It was from Abbott, informing her that they had a new case and Fischer would be there to pick them up at 7 a.m. She bit back a curse. So much for her and Jane having time to figure things out. There was no chance they could resolve anything with Fischer as a third wheel. Lisbon still didn't know the whole story of Fischer's history with Jane, but she'd tried to tell herself it didn't matter. She couldn't hold it against him that he'd been interested in another woman when he'd had no real expectation of seeing her again, right? And he'd insisted on working with her even after he'd known Fischer was assigned to him.

At least Fischer was preferable to Abbott. The smug bastard had barely contained his glee when he'd asked her if she was sure she wanted to take responsibility for Jane not running off this weekend. "I'm sure you're aware that federal prison isn't a good place for a cop," he'd said. "Especially you. I hear the Blake Association has its own little empire behind prison walls. They'd love to get their hands on you, I bet. Are you sure Jane won't run off and leave you holding the bag?"

She'd assured him that Jane wasn't going anywhere. At least he'd stopped referring to Jane as her boyfriend, which she found demeaning to them both, as if she wouldn't have done what she'd done unless sex was involved.

It was a little after four o'clock. Lisbon realized she probably wouldn't get back to sleep anyway, so she might as well finish packing. With a groan, she rolled out of bed and grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of her door. As she shuffled down the hall, she decided to check in on Jane, so she carefully opened the guest room door.

She frowned at the unoccupied bed in the darkness, then reached for the light switch. The bed was not only empty; it hadn't been slept in at all.

Oh God. Had he run off after all? No. She wouldn't believe that.

Had she just dreamed the whole thing? Maybe she'd fallen asleep after reading Jane's latest letter and made up his return. Maybe he was still on a beach somewhere and she hadn't heard from the FBI since Abbott's visit.

Would she really have made up Kim Fischer, though?

Turning off the light, she went out to the living room, stopping short at the sight of Jane curled up on the couch, his hands tucked between his knees. For a moment it was almost as if she'd been whisked back in time to the CBI bullpen, coming to wake him up after he'd been up to something at the office all night. She couldn't help a smile.

As if he felt her gaze, he blinked, yawning, and gave her a sleepy smile. In the light of the single lamp, his golden curls glowed above his sea-colored eyes. He was unbelievably beautiful to her in that moment.

"Nice robe," he murmured, looking amused. "Very polar bear."

"Ha, ha. Why are you on the couch?" She fought the urge to put her hands on her hips.

"I was feeling nostalgic," he said, sitting up. "It reminded me of the couch in your old office. I had some really good naps there."

"Yes, I know." As the throw slid off him, she was glad to see he'd at least taken his jacket off.

"Is something wrong?" His expression faded to a frown as he studied her.

"I got a text from Abbott. We have a case. Fischer will be here at seven."

"In the morning?" Jane rolled his eyes. "I can't say I missed the working hours. I'll make us a nice breakfast while you finish packing." He heaved himself off the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "Since I don't imagine the FBI will allow time for more than a muffin at the airport." He took the few steps to her, then leaned forward and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "Good morning, my dear."

"I don't see what's so good about it," she grumbled, but she couldn't help a little smile. She could get used to being kissed good morning like that.

"We're alive and together," he pointed out. "Though I agree having our plans rearranged isn't ideal. But I'm thinking you have some things you want to work out before we go too much further anyway."

She couldn't really deny that. "Coffee," she muttered, heading for the kitchen.

While she brewed her coffee, Jane put the kettle on and began rummaging in the refrigerator. She warned, "I don't think I can eat this early."

"I know. I'm just planning," he responded, closing the fridge and opening the cupboard where she kept her mugs. He handed her one and took out one for himself. She wished she had a real teacup to offer him. Maybe she'd buy some.

That reminded her that she had never asked him what would make him happy. Now that Red John was gone, it was an open question. He obviously hadn't been happy as a beach bum, or he wouldn't have come back.

After she poured her coffee and he prepared his tea, they sat at the small kitchen table and sipped. She had almost forgotten how nice it was to sit with him and not have to say anything.

When she began to feel a little more awake, Jane spoke up. "I think I'll get my shower now. Then I can make breakfast while you get ready."

"Okay." But as he started to get up, she reached for his arm. "Hey, Jane. What would make you happy?"

He sat back down, looking closely at her as if he wasn't sure she was serious. Then he smiled. "I want to be understood. I want someone I can trust enough to be myself around. Someone who truly knows me and loves me anyway. Someone who makes me want to be a better person. Fortunately for me, I already have all of that in you. You don't need to try to make me happy, Lisbon. You already do. Just being with you makes me happy."

She was touched, but wary. It couldn't be that simple, could it? She'd long ago figured out that Jane trusted very few people and that she was near the top of that list. But was that really all he wanted?

Jane reached out and tapped a finger against her hands, which were locked around her coffee cup. "Of course," he added, "I won't deny that in a perfect world, you'd wear a dress now and then. And maybe talk with me about literature or art or something. Just like I'm sure you'd prefer it if I were interested in sports and a little more well versed in modern technology."

"A lot more," she agreed.

"My point is," he said, "nobody gets everything they want in a partner. But in you, I have the important things. The deal breakers. The rest of it I can live without. You've put up with me for a long time now, so I'm thinking that's true for you too."

She took another sip of her coffee and tried to gather her nerve. Jane spared her having to ask, though. "And no, children aren't part of my plans. I remember how much energy it took to run around after a toddler. I'm well past that stage. So I'm not going to leave you for a leggy twenty-two-year-old who wants a big family. And I'm not going to ask you to risk your health and happiness trying to have a baby at your age."

She grimaced at the reference to her age, but she couldn't deny that she was relieved. She was coming up on the midpoint of her forties, no time to be trying for a first baby. And their new jobs weren't exactly family friendly. "But you are looking for something long term."

"Yes. We don't have to make a formal commitment. I know that's not your thing. We don't have to give it a label either. I just want us to be together." He smiled a little, and she had the distinct feeling that might not be the whole truth. He was probably just trying not to spook her by going overboard, which she hoped indicated a new level of respect for her comfort zone.

"And not see other people?" She felt this was worth clarifying. She wanted no more heartburn over Jane and other women.

"Most definitely not see other people," he said firmly. He frowned. "You're not hiding a boyfriend up here, are you?"

"No. I just don't want to worry about what you and Agent Fischer are up to when my back is turned," she replied.

Jane laughed as if she'd been joking. "No need to worry about that. She's already wishing she'd never met me and wondering why she didn't spot what an asshole I was back in Venezuela."

"Because you're only an asshole when you have a reason to be?" Lisbon suggested.

"Meh. I was just grateful to have someone to talk to," he shrugged. Then he grinned. "But now I have you for that. Agent Fischer is the authority figure I am compelled by my very nature to torture."

Lisbon shook her head, biting back a smile. "I am so glad I'm not your boss anymore."

"Me too." He tapped at her fingers again, and this time she freed one hand for him to hold. "I always liked it better when you were my partner instead of my boss."

"Yeah," she admitted, "me too."

Jane smiled at her. "Good. Now, let me set your mind at rest. I'll promise not to push you about our relationship while we're on this case if you'll promise to go out to dinner with me as soon as it's over."

"Does that mean you'll try to actually solve the case instead of using it as an excuse to mess with everyone you meet?" she asked.

"You say that like it's an either/or thing. I assure you I'm perfectly capable of doing both at the same time." His tone was offended, but his eyes were amused. "However, I propose an addendum: I will refrain from the many, many things you term unprofessional behavior on this case if you'll wear a dress on our date."

Lisbon was curious to see if he was actually capable of behaving perfectly. "Only if you promise to watch a football game with me if you misbehave."

"I believe that turns this agreement into a bet," he grinned. "And I'll take it."

"Deal." She turned her hand in his to shake it, thinking, _This should be interesting._

"There. That's why we belong together. Compromise, the foundation of every healthy relationship." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then got to his feet. "I'll see you in a few minutes. Unless of course you choose to join me in the shower."

"Is that an invitation?" She was not awake enough for this, she thought. On the other hand, certain body parts were becoming very awake at the image he'd planted in her head.

"Consider it a standing one," he called over his shoulder.

"I'll take a rain check," she called back.

When she finished her coffee, she got to her feet to pour a fresh cup. As she did, she heard the shower in the hall bathroom come on and took a moment to appreciate the fact that she had Patrick Jane in her house, naked. That was a lovely start to a day that was probably going to be long, hard, and annoying.

She was an idiot. She should take full advantage of this rare opportunity, she realized. She put her mug down, shrugged out of her robe and threw it on her chair, and hurried down the hall, pulling off her tank top as she went.

He hadn't locked the door, a thoughtful touch she appreciated as she closed it behind her and shimmied out of her sleep pants and underwear. Then she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the back of the tub.

Jane was grinning like a madman. "I'm so glad you changed your mind," he said smugly.

She wondered briefly if he'd planted the suggestion in some sneaky way to ensure she couldn't resist. But really, he hadn't needed to. She'd been hot for him since their make out session in front of the fireplace. "Oh, shut up and fuck me," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed. "I really do love it when you get all authoritarian."

"Then get a move on, because I still expect breakfast, and I'm damned if I'm going to feed your keeper too." It didn't come out as firmly as she liked, because she was intensely distracted by a detailed scrutiny of his body, a mystery she'd long wanted to solve.

"You're my keeper," he replied, pulling her into his arms and holding her against his soapy chest. "I'll never let anyone else keep me." Then he kissed her, hot and hungry, pressing her against the tiled wall. She kissed him back with equal fervor, lifting one leg to open herself to him as she reached down to squeeze his ass. He moaned and nipped at her bottom lip, then pulled back with a slightly shaky smile. "Allow me to wash your hair," he said.

"Later. Quit messing around. You promised you'd behave," she pointed out, gripping his shoulders to keep him from going anywhere.

"On the case," he argued, his eyes twinkling at her. "When it comes to sex, it's my job to drive you crazy. And I will always take that job very seriously."

God help her, she thought with a smile.

mmm

Lisbon tried to tamp down her satisfied grin as she opened the door to Agent Fischer. "Good morning. We're almost ready to go; come on in."

"Sorry to cut your weekend short," Fischer said as she stepped inside. "Nice place."

"Thanks. I'll get my bag." As she walked through the living room, she called, "Jane, you almost done?"

"Getting there," he responded from the kitchen. "My bag's near the door." He stuck his head through the doorway and said, "Good morning, Agent Fischer. I'm just finishing up the dishes and I'll be right with you."

"Need some help?" she asked.

"No, just have a seat," he replied.

Lisbon came back with her bag and dropped it near the door beside Jane's. "So what's the case?" she asked.

"Classified files missing from a locked room. Surveillance shows no one going in or out, and there's no sign it's been tampered with." Fischer sighed. "I hate these kinds of cases."

Jane joined them, rolling his sleeves down and picking up his jacket from the arm of the couch. "Sounds like a good one. I hope you had a relaxing day off."

"Yes. Did you enjoy your visit?" she asked politely.

"Oh, very much," he grinned. "I'm very happy I came. Aren't you glad you invited me, Lisbon?"

"I didn't," she reminded him, narrowing her eyes at him a little. She hadn't thought to tell him she'd prefer to keep their change in status quiet, but she should have expected him to amuse himself at her expense. "But I can't complain, since you not only cooked, but did the dishes."

"Ah, that reminds me." Jane went back into the kitchen and emerged with two travel mugs. He handed her one smelling deliciously of coffee and sipped at his own. "Now we're ready to go."

Lisbon smiled her thanks at him, and he smiled back, picking up both bags. She reached out to take hers, but he wouldn't let her. "I've got it. It's the least I can do to repay your gracious hospitality," he said cheerfully.

"Fine, if it makes you happy," she sighed.

"It does." He gave her his happiest smile to prove it.

Fischer was looking at both of them, trying to figure out what was going on. Lisbon hoped she enjoyed that feeling, because it happened a lot working with Jane.

She opened the door and gestured for the others to precede her so she could lock up behind them. When she finished, she turned to find that Jane had put their bags in the back of the SUV and was waiting for her with that sunny smile she loved.

As she walked over to him, she felt herself smiling back. No matter what the day held, they were alive and together.

And happy.


End file.
